


rise and fall

by savingophelia (briennesbeauty)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Day 2: Linked Minds, F/F, Soulmate AU, Swan Queen Week Summer 2018, set season one-two, soulmate safety meters, that sting when they're in danger, then diverges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briennesbeauty/pseuds/savingophelia
Summary: she’s in a graveyard in the dark trading punches with the worst woman she’s ever met in her whole life and she doesn’t even notice the way her wrist burns, because her cheek stings just as bad, and her chest is tight with rage.au where you can see a meter of how much danger your soulmate is in, for day 2 of sqw!





	rise and fall

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know how much of SQW I’m going to be able to do this year but this au just seemed so perfect for them so I had to! 
> 
> In this soulmate au, you have a meter on your wrist that tells you how much danger your soulmate is in, but when they are in extreme danger it physically hurts you. So, kind of works for the linked minds prompt? I think? Anyway...

For most of her life, Emma’s been very aware of her soulmate meter. 

In fact, she’s probably more aware than most people. 

Whether it’s because her soulmate is a skiing, mountaineering adrenaline-junkie, or another shadowy little street rat, or some other reason Emma can’t name or won’t think about, the small meter etched on Emma’s wrist spikes and jumps around pretty frequently. 

Without fail, the thing spikes once every few days. Its regular reading is sort of in the middle, towards the dangerous end, which is weird in itself since most people’s sits happily near the _safe_ mark. Sometimes it creeps up suddenly then creeps back down again. Emma barely notices that after a while. But sometimes it spikes so suddenly it really hurts, an electric jolt of pain shocking through her wrist and making her jump. 

When she was little, and she was in and out of various homes, the other kids would always notice and make fun. It was a right pain in the ass. She remembers making up excuses to why she jumped in pain just sitting on the couch. Then she learned to stop rolling up the sleeves of her plaid shirts. It was easier if people didn’t notice. 

Still, she went through phases with it. There was a particularly boring summer when she was twelve – Emma vaguely remembers lying awake in bed in the home, listening to the little kids crying and the big kids kissing and distracting herself by thinking up excuses for her mysterious soulmate. Maybe they were an international spy, always on a mission. She’d trace the lines of the meter on her wrist in the dark, imagining. Maybe they did extreme sports. That would be cool, Emma had thought. _Way cool_. 

As she grows up, she figures it’s probably something less exciting and more depressing. After that, she kind of stops thinking about her soulmate so much. And, in turn, the soulmate settles down. 

Until the night her kid knocks on her door and changes everything. 

It’s weird, but the moment Henry barges in asking for juice and answers, the meter on her wrist jumps right up. She tries to ignore it, because as if she needs more crazy shit to think about right now than her long-lost son standing in her kitchen. 

So she shuts down his nonsense about fairy tales and Evil Queens and drags him out to the car. She’s taking him home, and that’s that.

Still, Emma can’t help but keep glancing at her meter the whole drive there. It feels like the more the night wears on, the more it spikes up, up, _up_ , leaving her with an odd unsettled feeling in her chest. She can’t even guess at what’s going on but still, she feels bad knowing that somewhere tonight, her soulmate is getting in more and more danger while she just drives down the road. 

She ignores it as best as she can, distracted by the quaint little sign welcoming her to Storybrooke, and following Henry’s directions through the dimly-lit streets. She pulls to a stop along the kerb in front of what he says is his house, wanting nothing more than to just put the whole night behind her. 

“Shit!” Emma swears under her breath in pain as she slams the car door behind her, and heat spikes through her wrist. She glances down at it, seeing the meter now almost at full. “ _Shit_.” 

“What did you say?” Henry pipes, close by her elbow suddenly and bringing her back to reality. 

Emma shakes her head, heat rising up her neck. “Nothing, kid.” She pockets her keys and tugs her jacket sleeve down over her wrist. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.” 

Henry stays sulkily silent as Emma makes her way down the pristine path, cutting through a perfectly-manicured front lawn. Part of her is kind of relieved that whoever this kid’s family turned out to be, they’re clearly pretty well off. It’s basically a mansion. She’s impressed, actually. Another part of her is kind of guilty she had really thought about that before. 

Next thing she knows, the door is flying open, and the most beautiful woman Emma has ever seen is hurtling down the garden path, launching herself at Henry and wrapping the kid tight in her arms. 

“Henry,” She whispers, clutching him close to her chest like he’s the most important thing in the world. It feels like a very personal, private moment, but Emma can’t help staring. 

Henry’s mom is _stunning_ , wearing a form-fitting grey dress and heels, her dark hair rumpled slightly, makeup fading from the day, olive skin drinking in the warm golden light spilling from the house over the porch. Her pretty face is creased with relief and love and it makes Emma’s chest ache and her stomach burn. 

Her kid has a mother. This perfect, beautiful woman is his _mother_ and she loves him more than anything. That much is clear. Emma can’t help but smile a little, even with the burn in her throat and her wrist. 

And then Henry wrenches himself from the woman’s arms and glares up at her with as much venom as a ten-year-old can muster. 

“I found my real mom!” He declares, and pushes past her, running up the porch into the house. The awkwardly lingering cop follows him easily, clearly well-known around here, or a family friend. 

And just like that, they’re alone together. 

Emma stares over at the woman, who’s face is raw with pain and disappointment. Her hair and dress are rumpled. She’d clearly been upset, sick with worry about Henry and to be met with _that_ – 

She turns to Emma, and the look changes once again. Her big brown eyes shine in the moonlight, full lips slightly parted. “You’re Henry’s birth mother?” 

Emma smiles awkwardly. “Hi.” 

“ _Ah!_ ” The woman hisses suddenly, her left hand curled into a fist. She glances towards her wrist instinctively, and Emma sees her perfectly-coiffed brows draw together into a concerned frown. 

Emma’s eyes go from the woman’s face to her partially obscured wrist. “You okay?” She asks cautiously, already knowing the answer. 

The woman looks up, almost as if just remembering Emma is there. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. It’s just –” She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. “My soulmate.” 

Emma nods. “If it helps, mine’s been going off all night too.”

“Really?” Her pretty brown eyes are suddenly wider, full lips parted. “That’s... Strange.”

“Yeah,” Emma forces an awkward grin and shrugs. “Maybe they’re together.”

“Maybe.” The woman – Henry’s mother – doesn’t look reassured. After a second, she smooths out her worried brow and lifts her head, fixing Emma with the most dazzling smile she’s ever seen. “How would you like to come inside and have a glass of the best apple cider you ever tasted?”

Emma looks at her, and past her to the warmly lit doorway where her kid just disappeared, and then to the full meter at her wrist, and lifts an eyebrow. “You got anything stronger?”

 

__

 

The day Regina woke up between her silk sheets in the Land Without Magic, she’d thought it had been the happiest and calmest she’d been her whole life. 

She awoke all at once with a satisfied, relieved feeling in her stomach, and slipped out of bed to look out the window at the little town she’d created. She took in the new furniture, the strange short nightgown she was wearing, the black road and neat glass-fronted shops outside. And then she’d glanced down and something had caught her eye – 

It had been there, for the first time, shiny and new on her left wrist, the _wrong_ wrist: A fresh soul-meter. It was level, just this side of _safe_. 

Regina had been furious, and confused. She’d scratched it with her nail, scrubbed it with a sponge, prodded and poked and tried to scan it with magic that felt odd and unfamiliar, but in the end she’d had to accept that in this new world, she had a new soulmate somewhere, somehow. And a fresh new meter to match. 

A meter that occasionally spiked and fell in a way that made her stomach churn with discomfort. Mostly, of course, the issue of her second soulmate was just that – an issue. A nuisance. She was never going to meet them, and she didn’t particularly care to, so that was that. 

The mark on her right wrist – _the_ right wrist – was still there, ugly and deformed as it now was. When Daniel died, that first soul-meter turned black and scarred, and she’d thought that was the end of it. It was hideous, a ridged black mess, skin snaking and taught and shot, but she bore it proudly. In some sick way, she supposed, it was her last tie to him. She’d touched it gently, that first morning. She liked it a lot better than the pretty new one. 

Still. She was Mayor here, and she had a town to run. So she put on a heavy watch and went to work. She dealt with it. For the equivalent of twenty-eight years, she dealt with it. 

So she doesn’t really know what she’s supposed to do _now_.

Because Regina has no idea what is going on, but from the moment Henry runs away from Storybrooke, her soul-meter has been raging. 

Part of her entertains the idea that it’s because Henry is her platonic soulmate, and that dreadful Emma Swan person is endangering him with her prescience here, but deep down she knows that’s not true. The soul-meter appeared her first morning in Storybrooke, which would have been long before Henry’s birth. So that’s out of the question. 

Still, she can’t help but think it’s connected. It’s never been this bad before, even that one winter all those years ago where it was close to danger almost daily. It spikes and jumps and crawls up and occasionally sends little bursts of pain sparking up and down her wrist.  
It is a nuisance though – almost every time she’s just getting the upper hand with that infernal Swan woman, in the middle of nearly every good argument, she has a moment where she loses focus and winces with the sudden shocking pain of it. 

Whatever else can be said about her supposed soulmate, they really do know how to pick their moments. 

She’s storming across her garden towards her apple tree, panic turning to fury in her chest, mind racing with various ways to destroy the godawful woman waiting for her under the broken branches, with her ridiculous chainsaw in hand. 

She’s ready to kill, but before she can even think about scratching the horrible, arrogant, ignorant smirk off of Emma Swan’s face, she winces and glances down at her suddenly throbbing wrist, meter creeping up towards _danger_. 

She’s sitting primly on the cluttered desk at the Sheriff’s station, waiting with a smug smile already polished and perfected on her face. She’s rehearsed everything she’s going to say in her head. She’s winning, of course, because she’s a queen and it’s like her mother always said. _Queens don’t lose_. 

Then Emma walks in and she loses her carefully thought-out opening line thanks to the sudden jolt at her wrist, bolting through her veins like a little electric shock, just at the instant she looks up at meet the awful woman’s eyes. 

(She’s pacing back and forth in her painful heels outside a construction site, tummy churning and stomach tight and feeling faint with anxiety. Because her son is underground, and that terrible Emma Swan has gone after him, and she’s trapped up here utterly helpless, with a staring crowd watching her every move, and a pain in her wrist that throbs on and on, reminding her that her soulmate is in danger right now too, just like her little boy. 

When Emma finally resurfaces with Henry in tow, Regina nearly collapses. Pulling him into her arms, she’s so dizzyingly relieved that she hardly notices the pain has gone away, and her soulmate is safe now too.) 

She’s in a graveyard in the dark trading punches with the worst woman she’s ever met in her whole life and she doesn’t even notice the way her wrist burns, because her cheek stings just as bad, and her chest is tight with rage. 

(She’s coughing and choking and everything is burning and her ankle kills and her heart races and she doesn’t want to die here like this in the grey smoke. The fire is spreading. Her soul-meter spikes up, just as Emma Swan bursts through the flames like something out of a dream and hauls her to safety. She doesn’t notice the way Emma winces and curls her right fist tight.) 

She’s baking an apple turnover in her kitchen, apron tied neatly around her waist. The whole counter smells of cinnamon and spice, and the air is filled with warmth from the heating oven. She’s gritting her teeth to ignore the constant burning at her wrist as the meter nearly reaches full. She has to clench her jaw and curl her free hand into a tight fist, while she sprinkles flour and sugar. 

All she can hope is that her stupid second soulmate learns to stop playing with fire soon, because whoever they are, they are _really_ getting in the way of her plans. 

 

__

 

It’s all real, and it’s over. 

Everything Henry told her, every desperate plea for help that Emma shut down and rolled her eyes at, every story she refused to believe in as a kid, it’s all real, and it’s all over because Henry is plugged into a hospital bed and her thoughts are tangled up and all she sees is _red_. 

The hospital lights buzz, and Emma seizes Regina roughly by the arm and hauls her into a janitor’s closet, shoving the smaller woman around easily. Her heart pounds, tears build, fury buzzes in her ears and she throws Regina hard against the wall, jamming her arm against her to pin her in place. 

She’s breathing ragged, about to _demand_ this sick, evil bitch tell her the truth for once in her life when she realises her wrist fucking kills.

“Ah!” Emma yelps, instinctively yanking her arm back, as if away from a flame. The meter stays near full danger, and she turns away to stare at it, while Regina gasps for breath and bites back tears behind her. 

_Fuck soulmates_ , she thinks, harshly. _And fuck fate, too_. 

She whirls around on her feet and slams Regina back against the wall by the shoulders, ignoring the way the stinging starts fresh.

_

The curse breaks.

Purple clouds billow through town, and when the smoke clears Emma’s left standing in the street, talking to her parents. It’s weird, and fucked up, and nice, and horrible, and they’re looking at her and smiling and she’s almost relieved when her wrist flares up and gives them something else to think about. 

“Shit!” Emma curses. She glances down. The meter is almost at full. 

(It’s funny, how she doesn’t even realise, doesn’t even put two and two together.)

“Emma, what’s wrong?” Snow asks, face twisted in sudden concern. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Emma manages, wincing slightly. She holds up her wrist briefly. “Just my soulmate.” 

“Your soulmate?” David frowns, looking down at the almost-full meter etched onto her skin. “Does that happen a lot?” 

“Um.” Emma pauses, prickly heat rushing to her face for some reason she can’t name. “Kind of, I guess.”

David opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, and him being so _dad_ -ish is just so weird and makes Emma’s chest tight, and at that moment the three of them turn around to stare down the road, where a mob of townspeople are charging like an army, angry shouts and muttering loud enough for them to hear the whole way down the road. 

Emma’s stomach drops, her wrist burns afresh, and she drops the conversation and runs most of the way to Regina’s house, not thinking, not even wanting to. 

She doesn’t make the connection when she sends the mob from Regina’s door, and sighs in relief as the burn subsides. 

(She doesn’t question why running around all over town protecting this woman feels right. She doesn’t question why she thinks she’d be doing this anyway, even if Henry hadn’t made her promise, hadn’t even asked.) 

She doesn’t even realise when the creepy fucking dementor thing turns up hungry for Regina’s soul, and she’s a few moments behind her parents grabbing brooms, waylaid by the searing burst of pain through her meter. 

Emma doesn’t realise. She doesn’t want to. 

But sitting on the floor of the Town Hall, spinning a hat in front of them, Emma’s hand firmly wrapped around her arm, something clicks for _Regina_. 

Because she sees the thing arrive again, and it’s come for _her_ soul and nobody else’s. And Emma’s hand is gripping her arm, and she can see Emma’s wrist, she can see her meter, she can see it suddenly spike up as the Fate arrives. 

And when Emma – stupid, horrible, awful, brave, heroic, disgusting Emma – throws herself into the portal in front of her eyes, and pain sears through her wrist, Regina realises. 

She falls back against the cold floor. The portal closes. The pain subsides, but the meter stays high, close to danger. 

She feels sick. 

 

_

The whole time Emma is in the Enchanted Forest, Regina doesn’t sleep. 

She wears the shirt Emma stole from her once. She’s very aware of this all day but she doesn’t know why. She twists Daniel’s ring round and round and takes off the watch she usually wears over his scarred, black soul-meter. 

One night she’s tired of laying in bed waiting for dreams that never come, and she reaches over to turn on her lamp and sits up in bed awash in warm light, studying the marks on both her wrists. 

Gently, she runs a fingertip over the ugly, scarred mess on the right. She shivers. To her, it is beautiful, the most beautiful thing. Leopold thought it was ugly. He made her wear bracelets or long sleeves so he wouldn’t have to look at it. Mother tried to get rid of it with magic, but it stayed there, stubborn as the boy it had belonged to. That made Regina happy. She’d been proud, to bear his scars. 

Regina smiles slightly to herself. She’d forgotten all that. 

She sighs as she glances over the second soul-meter, the pretty perfect one on the left. Right now it’s just past the middle mark, closer to danger. She touches it very lightly with one finger, almost afraid something will happen if she presses too hard. Her brow furrows. 

(She finds herself thinking of Emma Swan. _The Saviour_. The awful, _awful_ woman. The hero destined to destroy her. She wonders where she is in the Enchanted Forest, if it is night there too. She wonders if Emma Swan is sleeping.)

Night after night she lays awake thinking, thinking, thinking til she feels ill. All the while, her wrist throbs with a dull pain, reminding her constantly the climbing danger level her soulmate is in. 

Her soulmate. 

 

Time draws on. 

Snow and Emma are still gone. 

David tries to take the lead. 

Regina tries to make Henry happy. 

 

Rumple offers her a deal. She considers taking it. She _really_ does. 

As if to prove her point, the more she decides she’s going to do it, to close the portal and get rid of Snow White and the infernal Saviour forever, the worse her wrist burns, until it hurts worse than it ever did. 

And then somehow Regina is standing over a well in the pretty green forest, and her son is looking at her with such pleading eyes and he’s so beautiful he makes her want to cry. And she decides to do right by him just this once. Absorbing the curse hurts like hell, so she doesn’t even realise nothing else does. 

When she stumbles back against a tree and Emma climbs out of the well back into their realm, then she realises. Her wrist feels fine. The meter goes back to safe. When she looks up, Emma is holding their son tight in her arms. She just stares, but Emma is smiling at her; a tired, sweaty, hopeful, goofy smile that makes her chest tighten. 

And that’s when she knows, really. 

In the back of her mind, she knows. 

She just really, _really_ doesn’t want to. 

“Welcome back, Miss Swan,” She says, around the lump in her throat. She smiles back. There’s something nice about it, and something tremulous. Her heart sinks in her chest like a stone through water.

 

-

 

Emma invites her to a party. 

It makes Regina feel funny inside. 

Nobody’s invited her anywhere for years. And Emma’s so genuine, so authentic, with the sun gleaming off her ugly jacket and messy hair, her smile almost relaxed. 

Regina turns up late. She changed her mind about coming a thousand times. She put a lot of effort into cooking her lasagne for the pot luck, though, and it’d be a shame to waste it. Her stomach is tense with nerves. Her mind is full of black scars and bright smiles. Emma is the only person who looks happy to see her, but somehow, having even one person look happy to see her is enough. 

(It’s more than she’s had for a long time.)

Of course, then she sits by herself all evening listening to everyone else laugh and chat and feeling suspicious eyes drift to her from all sides, and eventually she has to get up and leave. The night is cool and fresh and the lights outside the diner look pretty and Regina can’t help but feel... disappointed. 

“Archie made a cake. You don’t want to stay for a piece?”

She’s glancing at the two meters on her wrists as she walks away when that kind, genuine voice behind her makes her stomach flip. 

She whirls around, heart beating faster than it should. 

The Saviour smiles at her, all apology and conflict and green eyes in the starlight. The energy in the air is somehow tense. As always, it feels like they’re on the edge of something. Like something is building but never finishing. Like the night is holding its breath. 

(For once, the meters on their wrists are still and safe.)

Emma watches Regina walk away, a heavy, heady feeling settling over her chest like dust. For some reason, she remembers the night they met – a fresh dark night with a cool breeze and a tingly energy, just like this. She remembers watching Regina race down the garden to hug Henry, and thinking she was the most beautiful woman in the world. 

She goes back into the party and doesn’t think about any of it for the rest of the night. 

For once, life seems to be stabilising. 

 

-

 

Then the cricket turns up dead, and all fingers point to the Evil Queen, mob mentality all too fresh in everyone’s minds. 

They arrest Regina and call it justice, and something about it rubs Emma entirely the wrong way, and it’s not just the dull pain in her wrist, getting steadily worse every minute. 

She looks at her through the glass, and feels something tug in her chest. Regina sits at the table, big brown eyes downcast, and she looks so small and conflicted Emma doesn’t understand how people can look at her and just see a monster or a machine. Doesn’t understand how she ever did. 

She’s a real, living, breathing woman with fears and doubts and most importantly, a heart full of love for the best damn kid in the world. 

And Emma knows a thing or two about that. 

(There’s more too. 

There’s a look in Regina’s eyes, something about the hesitance when she smiles, the rigid posture and impassive face that calls to Emma and gets under her skin. She’d never ask, but she’s pretty sure there’s more to Regina’s story than meets the eye. Because the former queen so often reminds her of sad kids from bad homes and Emma almost can’t help but understand her. Something about her dark eyes and her raw smile tug at Emma’s skin like a loose thread. They always have.

Maybe that’s why they’ve always fought so hard.) 

So she does what feels like the most natural thing in the world – she defends her. She stands up for her, fights her corner. Appeals to her parents and the others, tries to reassure her. Her danger meter creeps down so slowly and steadily Emma barely even notices until she glances down and smiles slightly. 

Then she looks through a dreamcatcher and everything goes to shit. 

Emma feels like she’s been slapped or punched in the gut. She feel like the biggest idiot in the world, for letting a pretty face and sad eyes and the love of a child get to her and make her think this woman has ever been anything but a heartless bitch. 

She feels like she’s just fallen from way up. (She has.) They’ve fallen right back to square one, to shouting in faces and dark warnings and throwing each other across the mayor’s neat garden with magic, while they both ignore the sudden spikes and stabs in their wrists. 

 

So once again, Regina loses everything. You’d think she’d be used to it by now. 

Her son hates her again, Emma hates her again (if she ever stopped), she’s all alone and out of power. She’s even lost the burn in her wrist – her meter’s pretty solidly below the middle mark now, closer to safe. It’s funny, but she sort of misses the ache. It might have been a nuisance at first, but recently it’s been a reminder that there’s someone somewhere who might be in her corner. 

(Emma Swan or not.) 

 

-

 

Her mother is there. 

(Of course she is.)

Regina’s not sure how you’re suppose to feel when you’re reunited with your mother for the first time in years. Probably happy. She just feels the way she always felt, but worse. She feels very small, and sad and angry and desperate and useless. 

Mother just stands in front of her, her lips folded fight, her eyes trained on her daughter and Regina’s eyes fill with tears. 

The lump in her throat doubles and trebles. Her stomach is in knots, her chest tight and tense, every breath feels daring and loud and makes Regina’s heart thunder. She curls her hands up tight and tries not to cry. She straightens up, posture almost painful. She doesn’t understand. How she’s here, what she wants, what she is going to do. She’s afraid. 

“I love you. I just - I've always shown it in all the wrong way. And I never should have made you marry the king. I'm so sorry.” Mother says, and she doesn’t sound it but she never does. Regina wants to believe her so badly, it’s like an ache in her. “When you cried over my coffin it... It all changed.”

And Regina can’t help it. Hot tears slip down her face and that makes it worse, because she shouldn’t be crying. _Queens don’t cry_.  
God, she’s pathetic. 

Mother pulls her into a hug, and Regina wants to tear herself away and rage and scream and make her go away and leave her alone, almost as much as she wants to bury herself in her arms and sob until it all goes away. Instead, she does something in between – she rests her head on her mother’s shoulder and lets her hold her, both of them stiff and unsure. 

When she pulls away, Mother’s hand closes around her left wrist, her grasp tight and cold. Regina stares. Mother’s hard eyes scan the neat little meter studiously. Regina just looks at her, with baited breath, waiting for her to do something. 

“How fascinating.” Mother says, still gripping her wrist. She doesn’t sound fascinated at all. “Let’s hope you learned from the first one, hmm?” 

Regina tries not to visibly flinch. “I don’t even know who it is this time.”

“Good,” Cora says, and strokes her hair.

 

On the other side of town, Emma Swan tosses and turns beneath her tangled sheets. She can’t sleep. She’s too full of guilt and anger, and she’s got a bitch of a headache. She really shouldn’t be surprised by this point, but she can’t help but gasp in shock when her wrist suddenly flares up. She raises it above her face, squinting in the thin moonlight. 

She doesn’t have to see it clearly to know it’s just hit _danger_. 

-

Gold is kind of dying in the back of his shop, and Neal is there now which makes everything more awkward for everyone, and they’re preparing, because Cora and Regina are coming and that’s that.

Emma’s wrist is stinging, constantly reminding her that somewhere, her dumbass soulmate is in big danger. _God_ , she thinks, _what are you, a professional shark-wrangler?_ She tries to ignore it, drawing the magical boundaries up as Gold directs. She knows Neal sees her wince and grab it at one point, but he doesn’t say anything.

And then Cora’s there, and Regina’s beside her and the sight of her still makes Emma’s stomach churn and her chest ache. She grips her sword tight as a lifeline. She glances sideways at Neal, at her dad. 

“Regina,” She warns because _god_ , does she want this woman to just help herself for _once_. “Think about what you’re doing.” 

“Don’t talk to me.” Regina’s dark eyes pointedly don’t look at her. 

And then Snow runs out and all hell breaks loose. 

The heat of Regina’s fireball soars past her head, she hears David’s shout. Her sword clangs and Cora’s magic sparks and rips through the air and glass casings smash, and Emma’s wrist is suddenly _searing_ but she grits her teeth and chokes back her pain. She sees Neal slice at Cora, sees his sword cut through thin air, and then Regina’s there and choking her and she can’t breathe and –

The next thing she knows she’s lunging for Regina before her plan has finished forming in her head. 

Emma grabs Regina tight and can’t help but cry out in pain as she wraps her fiercely in her arms, just as her soul-meter apparently jumps all the way up. Regina struggles against her - perhaps that’s why Emma misses her matching agonised hiss and the way her hand jerks. 

But then she stills and Emma grips her tight, turning her gaze to Cora. The burst of chaos is over as suddenly as it began, as everyone waits to see whether the witch will choose a dagger over her daughter. Everything is still and silent. They wait with baited breath. 

“Mother,” Regina says, and her voice is very small. That one word twists in Emma’s chest. She grips Regina harder, closer, tighter. She’s not sure why. 

It is in this moment of complete silence and suspense that Emma realises her wrist has stopped hurting. Completely. 

For this tiny split second, her soulmate is safe. 

Then Cora chooses the dagger, and Emma’s wrist burns like a motherfucker again and her chest wrenches and she throws Regina over a cabinet, and then runs to the back room, to draw another protection line, because that’s all she can think. 

 

That night, it’s Emma lying awake, staring at the meter on her wrist and thinking of brown eyes and red lips and moments of silence and safety in the midst of a skirmish. She thinks about all the times her wrist has started to hurt – _really_ hurt – out of nowhere. 

She thinks of throwing Regina against the wall of a janitor’s closet, ready to beat the shit out of her, and suddenly stopping because of the pain. She thinks of angry mobs and apple trees and her brows furrow of their own accord. 

She traces the meter, now somewhere between the midway point and danger, solid and painless. She breathes out slowly, wondering if destiny would really fuck up _that_ bad. If it would really... _no_ , Emma thinks. _Don’t be an idiot, Swan_. 

But still, when she closes her eyes, there she is, waiting for her. 

-

It’s not until a few weeks later that Emma really understands. 

Greg and Tamara are running around wrecking havoc, and Captain fucking Hook has that stupid magic-blocker cuff, and Henry’s looking to her to save the day, and Regina’s gone. 

Emma hasn’t seen Regina all day, but her meter has been steadily climbing up towards danger since she woke up this morning, and she has a bad feeling in her gut. 

Then suddenly it starts. The pain in her wrist, worse than it ever has been. Her hand curls into the tightest fist, and she clenches her jaw, a long grunt of pain escaping through her teeth. _Fuck_ , she thinks. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“Emma!” She can hear her mom shouting, voice shrill with panic. “Emma! What is it?”

“My wrist –” Emma manages, through gritted teeth. “Ah! Fuck!”

David snatches her wrist in his warm hand and brushes a thumb over the full meter. “Emma, it’s at full.” He tells her quietly. 

Emma can’t help but release a loud cry of frustration and pain, digging her nails further into her palm. “Yeah, thanks Dad, but I kind of already noticed that –” She exhales slowly, through gritted teeth. “Shit. Fuck. I think it’s getting worse, is that normal?”

“Emma, I know what you’re feeling. When the meter hits full it can just hurt like it normally does when it jumps suddenly and then goes, but if it keeps hurting like this it means the danger is worse than usual. The same thing happened to me in the Enchanted Forest and it was right before your mom ate that poisoned apple.” David explains, in a soft fast voice. “Which means your soulmate is in serious trouble.”

“Yeah, again, I got that –” Emma groans out. 

“Emma, honey, if you have any idea who your soulmate is –” Snow begins. She kneels beside Emma, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch her hair. “If they’re here, in Storybrooke and something’s going on we can help them –”

Emma just shakes her head, over and over. “I don’t know who it is.” She lies. It still hurts like hell, but somehow, she’s learning to bear it. “They’re probably not here. We need... I need...”

“What is it, Emma?” Snow asks, voice hushed and anxious. 

“ _Regina’s_ in trouble.” Emma swallows hard, pretending she doesn’t know what the sudden change of expression on her parent’s faces mean. She doesn’t care. She just knows she has to get to her kid’s mom. “We need to find her first.”

“We’re on it,” David promises, eyes scanning his daughter cautiously. “We'll find her, and the beans. You should wait until that’s cooled off –”

“No!” Emma’s surprised by the sudden force in her voice. “I’m not going to leave her with some psychos just because – I’ll just have to cope.” She says firmly, and stands up quickly to prove her point. Without looking at either of them, she grabs her gun and her coat and heads for the door. She trusts that they will follow her. 

As soon as they’re on their way, the burn subsides. And then dulls to a faint throb. She’s aware it’s still at full danger, but the pain is going away, and it keeps going as long as Emma keeps moving, keeps tracking her. 

“Emma,” Snow begins, voice breathless from rushing to keep up. “How can you be sure we’re going the right –”

“I know, okay!” Emma snaps, gripping her gun tighter and moving faster, pulling out ahead of her parents. 

She doesn’t think about it. The thought doesn’t even register coherently. There’s not a big realisation. 

She _just knows_ , somehow, deep down, in a raw, instinctive place, that the closer she gets to Regina the less danger she is in. She knows she’s going the right way because the pain in her wrist is going. 

When she reaches the large gravel yard by the warehouses and canneries, Emma’s heart starts pounding double time and the pain seems to both lessen and worsen at the same time. She grips her gun and runs, racing across the lot, briny breeze whipping her hair across her face. 

She skirts around the edge of a cannery building, heart racing, breathless, wrist throbbing insistently, as if to let her know she’s in the right place. She listens for just a moment. Beneath the distant washing of the ocean waves, and the whistling of the wind through the empty warehouses, she can hear a man’s smug voice. 

Her heart vaults into her throat. 

Emma cocks her gun and races around the building, through the open door and sure enough, there is Greg, and just behind him she can see Regina strapped down and apparently unconscious. 

Emma runs to Regina, desperate hands fumbling with the straps at her wrists. When she finally undoes the first one, she catches sight of a black scar the size and shape of a soul-meter, marring the delicate olive skin inside her wrist, and she stops short for a second, staring. 

She doesn’t have to wonder long though, because when she releases the second hand, she finds a second, perfect soul-meter, currently just past the midway mark. She touches it gently. A shiver runs down her spine. Regina still doesn’t stir. 

“Hey,” Emma whispers, breathless, shaking. _Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay_. 

Slowly, softly, Regina’s head turns. Her eyes open, and they’re huge and shining. Her lips are parted with shock. Her dark hair is strewn about her face. She looks hurt, and confused, and stunningly beautiful. 

“Emma,” She whispers. 

“I’m here.” Emma promises. “You’re okay.” 

“How did you...?” Regina asks, sitting up slightly, shaking her head. 

Emma doesn’t know what to say. In answer, she just extends her wrist, turned over to show the inside, the meter that is slowly creeping down towards safe. 

Regina sits up further, dark brows drawing together. She leans over Emma’s wrist, one tentative hand gently reaching for the meter.  
Understanding dawns in her eyes. She blinks once, twice, and then she’s looking up at Emma and saying everything without saying anything at all and Emma’s heart skips a beat and for a second she’s sure they’re going to kiss – 

“Emma!” 

“Regina!”

They both jump and turn to stare behind, where Snow and David are running into the warehouse, staring, guns cocked. Heat floods Emma’s face and Regina jumps up off the table, as if they’ve done something wrong. As if they’re teenagers who have been caught making out on the couch. 

“What happened?” Snow asks, coming up to pull Emma into a quick hug. 

“I found her.” Emma said simply, breathlessly, then inwardly cringed as she realised she’d accidently parroted her parent’s catchphrase. “I mean, I found them. They’re gone.” 

“Well done,” David claps her on the shoulder reassuringly. 

 

Somehow, that isn't the weirdest shit they have to deal with. Somehow, before the end of the day, Emma has fought her ex-boyfriend's crazy fiancée, chases a pirate for magic beans. She has seen portals open and close before her eyes, and a former evil queen beg to die as a hero for their son. 

As Emma stands in the shadowy depths of the mine with her heart thundering and her parents - _her parents_ \- beside her, she can't take her eyes off Regina. Standing over the diamond with shaking hands and pain in her eyes, beautiful face strained and aglow with light from the diamond, never once looking away from Henry. Emma's throat is tight and she is breathless. She can't believe fate would be so cruel, to make you spend your whole life searching for your family, to give them to you and take them away all at once. 

She can't believe her wrist is on fire, and she can see, in the purple-blue glow from the quaking diamond, the little meter on Regina's left wrist climbing steadily up to _danger_ too. _Well, no shit, Emma._ That almost makes her laugh. 

And she looks at her parents, and she looks at Henry, and she looks at Regina, and suddenly she knows what she has to do.

“Maybe you’re not strong enough.” Emma acknowledges. And when she finishes her sentence, she knows she’s not just talking about stopping the diamond. Her voice is steadier and surer than it’s ever been. “But maybe _we_ are.”

And she jumps in, hands out, wrist on fire, and takes her part of the curse. 

Emma gasps, because it feels so strange, so draining and hard, but the ache in her wrist dulls. When she looks up, over the glowing purple light, Regina is staring into her eyes with the smallest smile on her lips and tears racing down her face. 

Despite the pain, Emma can’t help but smile too, because. Just because. Between their hands, the diamond is shaking and Emma can feel it all through her bones. She can see the soul-meter on Regina’s wrist, she can see it hitting full danger and she knows her own is the same. Because this is the most dangerous thing they’ve ever done, and the best. 

Then quite abruptly, the diamond stills and falls to the floor with a delicate clatter sound, and the next thing she knows Emma’s on the ground too. 

For a long time, she lays there, stones and gravel pressing into her cheek, chest rising and falling heavily as she regains her breath, limbs heavy. As soon as she comes back to herself she jumps up, breathless, an absurd laugh bubbling up from her chest, because she’s _alive_. 

She’s alive because she and her _soulmate_ just used _magic_ to _save the world_. 

Across from the diamond, Henry is kneeling on the floor beside his other mother. Apparently she recovered quicker than Regina. Emma races across the cave to them, and drops to her knees beside him. 

Regina is lying on the floor, just coming to, propping herself up n her elbows. Her big dark eyes flicker up to meet Emma’s, and just like that, a small smile spreads across her lips again. Their gaze holds, and then Emma’s laughing again, and Regina’s laughing and – has Emma actually hard Regina laugh before? 

The sound is glorious, clear and sweet and ringing, and Emma nearly collapses again then and there. 

“So you’re safe now.” Emma tells her, holding out her wrist to prove it. 

Regina looks at the meter, firmly at _safe_ , with a soft look in her eyes, like she doesn’t quite believe it. 

And then slowly, gently holds out her own wrist and lifts her coat sleeve, showing Emma hers. Her dark eyes lift to Emma’s. Her voice is soft and hushed through her smile. “It seems you are too.” 

“Who’d have thought, huh?” Emma says, shaking her head. 

Henry, beside her, seems to finally realise what is happening. 

“Wait,” His little voice is confused. He glances between his two mothers, bright hazel eyes full of hope and confusion. “What? Are you...? Are you two _soulmates_?” 

Emma glances over at Regina, who is staring at Henry like he’s the centre of her gravity, which Emma gets. There’s a brief moment where neither of them is sure what to say, because the need to protect this kid once again is stronger than anything. (It transcends hatred and destiny and love and words like 'hero' and 'villain'.)

But then Regina nods, hesitantly. “So it would seem.”

“Oh.” Henry says. Emma and Regina stare at him, concerned for a second as he seems unsure how to take it. But then he smacks his forehead suddenly, and a huge gap-toothed grin spreads over his pale face. “Of course!”

“What?” Emma nudges him, breathless with disbelief and dizzy with shock. “Was this in your book too?” 

“No, but –” Henry shakes his head. “This makes perfect sense!” He looks to Emma. “You’re the saviour. She was the Evil Queen, but you _saved_ her. Because it’s your destiny!”

“You’re not... You’re not upset?” Regina asks, wide eyes finding his.

“Of course not,” Henry pauses a moment, looking back at his mom with wide eyes. “I just want you both to be happy.”

Regina crumples at that, and Emma’s chest breaks wide open. Before she can say anything, Snow suddenly appears, hovering over them with a small smile and thoughtful eyes. Emma watches as she holds out a hand to the kid. “Henry,” She says. “You want to come with me for a sec? Give your moms a moment to... recover?” 

Emma watches her mom draw Henry away, feeling relieved and grateful and also panicky at being left alone with Regina after everything. She’s still kneeling in the stony dirt at her soulmate’s side, Regina half sat up, looking at her. Her mouth is dry, chest pounding. 

For a long time, there is silence. 

“Look, Regina, just because we’re soulmates, it doesn’t mean we have to – do anything or anything has to change, I don’t expect you to suddenly _like_ me, let alone –” Emma stops suddenly when a small, soft hand slips into her own. She stares down at where Regina was lacing their fingers together firmly. 

Slowly, Regina looked up at her, dark eyes hitting Emma’s stomach like a punch. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Regina tells her simply. 

Emma swallows hard, chest fluttering, as she grips Regina’s hand tight and leans closer towards her. Her voice is hoarse and hushed. “You too.” 

“Emma...” Regina begins, and Emma thinks she could get used to hearing her name in that beautiful voice. 

“What?” A little smile quirks at her lips. “No more _Miss Swan_?”

Regina glances down for a second before looking up and meeting Emma’s eyes. “I think we’re a bit past that now.” 

Emma nods, and without thinking, her free hand is brushing across Regina’s cheek, stroking back her silky dark hair. “Just a bit.” 

And then they’re both leaning in at once, tilting heads and kissing softly and slowly, then gaining confidence. The position is awkward – Emma kneeling and leaning over her, Regina sitting up on the floor – but it doesn’t matter, because they fit together perfectly. 

Warmth spreads from lips to bones to wrists. Emma’s hand slips through Regina’s hair to cup the back of her head softly, and press more firmly against her. The brunette’s lips are soft and surprisingly sweet when they open under hers. 

When they break apart they linger close, noses bumping, foreheads almost touching. Regina releases a small, contended hum. Emma can feel the warm puffs of her breath against her lips. 

Even though she knew they were soulmates, and even though she’s felt this strange affection, this overwhelming pull to the other woman countless times before – she’s still a little surprised at the softness in her gut, this strange affection that comes so easily all of a sudden. 

“So,” Emma says. 

“So.” Regina repeats, and awkwardly pulls back a little. 

Emma finds her eyes, brown and gold and soft in the dark mine. “What now?”

“Now we stop trying to kill each other,” Regina decides in that rich velvety voice of hers. The tiniest smile tugs at her full lips, and she raises one perfect dark brow. “If only to save our soul meters.” 

A grateful grin breaks over Emma’s face. “Thank god. Do you even know how bad this thing has hurt this past year?”

“Believe me, I know.” Regina gives her a look that makes something heavy turn over in her chest. “You have only yourself to blame.” 

Emma reaches down and takes her hand again. She brushes a thumb over Regina’s unbelievably soft palm, and then down over her racing pulse, and the still meter inked over it, the tiny curling script that proclaims they are, at last, safe. 

“You wanna go back up there and see what happens?” Emma asks. 

Regina looks over at her and carefully nods. Her hand grips hers a little tighter. “I suppose that’s all we can do.” 

She has no idea what would happen now. Between the two of them, between the two of them and _Henry_ , with her family and those psychopaths that shot Neal, or whatever villain tries to take them down next. 

But one thing Emma does know is that, at least for now, she doesn’t have to worry about her burning wrist. And maybe she doesn't have to worry about her prophecised 'arch nemesis' either. 

She takes Regina’s hand and pulls her to her feet. The brunette smiles faintly and dusts down her coat. Together, they step over the drained diamond and walk side by side out into the sun.


End file.
